Another Sky
Another Sky
Is there another sky,
where I could rest my heavy bones,
embraced, cradled beyond this ledge
The drop to hell is far too steep.
Running down a cloudy glass,
the crimson drip of mother’s wine
staining all it touches with a bitter, bloody red.
I measure worth in empty plates.
A parasite gnaws at my stomach's lining,
a relentless hymn I cannot silence.
My scars like ghostly constellations,
a haunting I carry, both burden and compass.
But there is a place where flowers grow in gravesites,
where mothers stitch sunlight into the fabric of grief.
I’ll trade wine for water and darkness for the Sun,
guided by stars that burn in another sky.
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